Mellow'd To That Tender Light
by nbc24
Summary: A short story examining how an in-denial Eric is able to re-discover his Sookie. My first ever attempt.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns the fabulous Eric and Pam; I'm just playing with them for my amusement.

Mellow'd To That Tender Light

The dark night sat heavily on his shoulders. Like a dead thing, a dead lump of rock, the moon hung above him, hazy with cloud. All was oppressive and weighty and dark, the moisture in the air uncomfortable, bidding him to bow his head. He was disgusted with this night, this weather, disgusted with himself for allowing it to affect him so. He was tempted to leave. To go. To vacate. To fuck off out of fucking Louisiana. He smiled quietly at himself, at his melodrama, he was not usually one to indulge in such internal theatrics. To the gods he could swear his experience of a thousand nights which were nothing to this one. Nothing at all. Nights which were harrowing, painful, frightening, even for him, with all that he had seen. What was this, but a touch of drizzle, the merest whisper of mist, just a dampness that threatened to sink into his very bones; nothing to him at all of course, indeed he barely registered it. It was a fucking picnic. He looked up defiantly, thinking of a hot shower at home, as rain coursed its way down his collar making him shudder slightly at the wet touch.

It wasn't the weather, of course it wasn't. Could a mere passing atmospheric dampness drive him from his home, his business? For a moment his still figure turned to stone as he allowed himself, again, to examine the source of his.... his what? His depression...? No, he wasn't a fucking human, with their fanciful psychoses which they insisted upon classifying as 'diseases'. He permitted himself a small Pam-esque snort of derision. No, he was Vampire, and therefore surely immune to such conditions. He had already decided that he was merely bored. Yes, that was all; it was just the growing ennui, the tedium of his days, the loneliness that gnawed at him, that pulled at him, that made him almost desperate to rediscover his joie de vivre. He had already determined this weeks ago when first he was overcome with such unfamiliar and unwelcome sensations. In over a thousand years boredom had become his biggest foe, but one which until now had been easily defeated, at least temporarily; a quick chase, fuck, meal and kill was a combination almost guaranteed to rouse the most lacklustre of his kind.

No longer. This was what he struggled to understand. He wondered suddenly if it were not more of a wilful refusal to understand. He should lay down his mask.... lay down all pretence.... really examine... No! He ruthlessly suppressed such pointless musings. He wasn't in fucking counselling. He was just bored. Deal with it. He was on duty. He was tracking. He was setting his Vampires an example of how a Vampire Sheriff should behave. He would not let his mind wonder to such drivel.

He turned his attention to the task in hand; namely one of pursuing and apprehending a rogue area Vampire. One who had been tormenting local humans with his insistence on feeding from unwilling and under-age school children. Parents in the vicinity had begun fussing. They were seemingly convinced that their children were at risk from some form of psychological damage – there had been talk of fainting fits and hysterics at the school gates. He found it difficult to raise any genuine moral outrage at the behaviour of the Vampire Daniel. The gods knew that his own dark past was riddled with incidents far worse than anything this young pup could envisage or execute. However as Sheriff it was incumbent upon him to 'take a stand'. Snort.

His phone rang. The sound humming and dragging through the night air; the sound more sluggish than usual. His white hand flashed to retrieve it, knowing that it would be his child.

"He's not here Pam. What news with you?"

"He's been sighted in Chagford. Marco tried to stop him but he took off, he'll be miles away by now, he's not a complete fool".

He restrained another snort ...this one sarcastic... it was a habit he disliked in his child and he would not allow himself to adopt it too.

Pam was continuing, "Marco informs me that Daniel was asking about the whereabouts of Gabriel Fiorelli, they shared a nest together apparently in Venice. Gabriel now lives somewhere in Exeter, it's a small town south of Bon Temps. We don't know precisely where he resides".

His hand gripped the phone tighter, he swallowed, and again suppressed a surge of emotion washing over him. "Daniel may be making his way there, to seek sanctuary".

"Yes, shall I send Marco down there? See if he can't locate Gabriel before sun-up".

"No! No, I'll go...ahem....maybe it would be better if..." He hears himself. He sounds unsure. This will not do. "It would be best if we proceed with more accurate information. I will travel now to Bon Temps. The shifters bar is frequented by supes, someone there will be sure to know Gabriel".

"Why don't I ask Bill... he's there as much as anyone?" Pam's voice has taken on a sly tone. He finds it unbecoming and answers her faster and more sharply than he had intended. "No! I said I will go Pamela. I'm leaving now". He disconnects and inhales a deep, unnecessary, yet curiously calming breath of cool damp air. As it fills his lungs he feels renewed, revived, refreshed. Strange.

Bon Temps is not near his current location but he drives at a speed with which The Corvette is unfamiliar; he is driving slowly, he is eking out the journey, he is enjoying the fucking ride. The night is dark and wet and heavy but it is also strangely beautiful. His headlamps illuminate the flooded road and the motley greens, blues and violets of the tarmac blur and race before him. Plump fertile raindrops meander down his windscreen marking intricate patterns across the glass. No longer are they insidious and malevolent. In this moment the anticipation for what is waiting at his destination is delicious. It's painful. He does not want it to end. The word sanctuary passes through his mind again. Not a word often associated with Vampires but it is pressing upon him tonight.

It is suddenly clear to him that he no longer participates in enough fieldwork. He has surely become softened and complacent at Fangtasia if a simple outing to interrogate a rabble of contemptible supes at a no-account bar can hold such power over him. Thrilled, he is thrilled...for no reason at all. The Vampire pulls into Merlottes and his eyes automatically scan the car-park for any familiar cars. One catches his attention but its owner is unlikely to know the location of the Vampire Gabriel so his eyes move on. Thrilled, he is thrilled. He rises from The Corvette and stretches tall, his frame languorous, loose and relaxed like a cat, a big wild cat you understand, from the Savannah, dangerous but graceful. Another deep, yet curiously necessary, breath, and he stalks towards the bars entrance. It is a tired and careworn establishment. He can not comprehend why anyone would choose to run, or indeed work, in such a place. It almost angers him....why?...it is nothing to him....nothing at all.

He pauses outside to decide upon strategy. It is unlikely that the humans will know anything. He will ignore them. They are beneath his notice. The shifter; he will start with the shifter, he may have heard something. He pushes open the door; the wood is grainy and rough and it chaffs against his fingertips; he savours the feeling...the pause...before the … storm? Shifter, the shifter, he focuses his mind. The door swings open and instantly every fibre of his being is directed at one point in a room otherwise invisible to him. His nerves are thrilling through his body, he is vibrating with concentration, with intent. She meets his gaze. She has been waiting. She has fought him, struck him, refused his explanations about the fairy war and her torture, hated him, rescinded his invitation, rejected their sacred bond... but she is here … and she has been waiting for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns the fabulous Eric, Sookie and Sam; I'm just playing with them for my amusement.

_The door swings open and instantly every fibre of his being is directed at one point in a room otherwise invisible to him. His nerves are thrilling through his body, he is vibrating with concentration, with intent. She meets his gaze. She has been waiting. She has fought him, struck him, refused his explanations about the fairy war and her torture, hated him, rescinded his invitation, rejected their sacred bond... but she is here … and she has been waiting for him._

The Vampires eyes remain locked with those of the young barmaid. She is a vision. She is peaches and creams and golds. She is the window display of a cupcake store; every treat frosted and delicious. She is butter and sugar and vanilla creamed together. She is juicy and fresh and plump and ripe. She is tired; the merest hint of strain is evident upon her smooth face. She is wearing a uniform which is plain and which has recently been stained and creased from this hard nights work. To him, she is a vision.

The heavy door has swung back toward him, nudging his shoulder, urging him in or out. In or out? Hmmm. He freezes; this is not uncertainty, of course not, it is strategising. What is for the best? The girl is not on his itinerary for tonight, she is not part of the plan. He will disregard her. He should not need to reassess; he was aware of her presence the moment he saw her scrap-heap of a 'car' parked outside, the moment he felt the elastic tug of the bond urging him forward as he stepped from The Corvette. No, the plan stands. She will know nothing. _She knows nothing_. Anger... and something else... washes over him. It is the shifter he is here to see, and no-one else. He will stick to the plan.

The eyes of the vampire and the barmaid are still latched together. Neither face betraying emotion; blank stares. She may well have been waiting for him, but if so, waiting she still is. His recent resolution to seek the shifter, and the shifter only, is still firm in his mind. He bats away his urge... his need... to walk towards the girl. She will reject him.

He must continue with his self-appointed task. The Vampire rouses himself and decides that he will move his eyes from hers. He will. Right now... in just one moment. Her scent - sweetness and sunshine and fae - is swirling around him, intoxicating him. He is still frozen in the doorway, holding himself rigid, suddenly worried that if he should move at all it will be to her. That would not do, not do at all. A small part of his mind registers shuffling amongst the patrons of this lowly establishment. They are uncomfortable; they are scrutinising what is passing between him and what is his. He is aware that his blank stare is intimidating, threatening; he has cultivated it to be just that. They are wondering of his intentions towards their Sookie. Perhaps he is about to grab her and bite her and hurt her right here in their bar. Sookie herself appears unworried; she looks indifferent, perhaps a trifle cold. Her unsmiling face is unfamiliar to her customers, somehow foreign, her crazy smile for once absent.

The Vampire moves his eyes coolly from her. The bar breathes out a collective sigh of relief; it is clear that whatever interest he momentarily held for their Sookie has now passed. This is almost universally recognised as favourable. If there is one dissenting voice amongst them she does not speak up.

The Vampire moves to the bar. Sam has been watching his approach and appears to be challenging him to a blank face stand-off. "Shifter, I will talk with you now. In private". Sam steps towards his office, the Vampire following. Sookie follows their progress with her eyes. She has finally moved and is clutching at herself, leaning forward slightly, her lips parted, as if she is trying to bear a weight too large for her frame.

In the office the Vampire stands silent, motionless; emotionless too, at least this is how he appears to the shifter. Internally he is furious, irate, humming with wrath and want. Anger is his default emotion. This has been explained to him patiently, many times, by Pam. Hers are indifference and sarcasm. The shifter is waiting. He is a kind man; kinder and better than the Vampire standing before him. The shifter does not realise it but it's hard to be good when you have been touched by 1000 years, when your horizons have been stretched too thin and too far.

"So, Eric, you're here, I'm here, what's up?"

Eric's nostrils flare slightly as he inhales. He is hit again by her scent. He can see her coat hanging on the door...his coat...the one he gifted her. Yes, he is here, here in this shabby office or store room or locker room, with this worthless shifter who has repeatedly taken delight in impeding his wishes. This is not where he needs to be, this is not right. Damn her. She has damned him and he wants to fucking damn her. The swirl of anger builds again, his fists ball, his chest swells, his eyes narrow. Sam steps back, quivering. Not with fear. Sam is kind but he is not a coward. Quivering in readiness of a shift.

Eric is gone.

A shriek from Sam's patrons indicate in what direction he is headed. A clattering of broken glass and Sookie has also gone. They have left. Vacated. Fucked off out of fucking Merlottes. Not under Sookie's own steam of course, and without anything nearing her permission. That was all Eric. Merlottes erupts into a frenzy of self-righteous chatter. Vampires! Sam pauses at the door, unsure. He wants to believe that Eric will harm Sookie and that he should dash to her rescue. He wants to believe that... he tries to believe that... but he can't. He turns and returns to the bar, resting his head on the smooth grain as his customers reach a fever pitch of speculation.

Eric and Sookie are standing under the trees by The Corvette. He is holding the tops of her arms tightly. Too tightly. There will be bruises tomorrow. The anger at her treatment of him is still roiling inside him and he knows that she can feel it, that it is too much for her. If he were to let her go now she would sink to the floor. Anger predominates but through this weaves the same current of excitement and anticipation that he had felt on the journey. He is thrilled to be near her, to be holding her, even though it is against her will, and possibly causing her pain. She is staring at him, defiance in every line of her face. It is clear that she is not pleased.

"Stop it Sookie! Stop it!" He shakes her a little with each word. She has gone limp, purposefully he is sure, to exaggerate the effect on her body; her head lolling on her neck, her teeth rattling. His voice is too loud, it is angry yes, but also.... is that a soupçon of desperation? Most probably. He feels desperate. It is welling up, overtaking the anger and excitement.

"Stop what? Eric for christs sake... you stop it, damn it".

He can't reply out loud. Stop looking at me like that, stop hating me, stop denying me. Me! You would deny me? Eric's vampire pride reasserts itself and he lets go of her abruptly. She stumbles slightly at her sudden release and leans heavily against the trunk of a tree, flexing her arms, wincing. She regards him, a small frown on her perfect face.

He will feel no shame, no guilt. He raises his chin slightly, challenging her. She is fine; merely a tad surprised at his sudden appearance, annoyed by their hasty removal, bruised by his excessive shaking. Well, he is a Vampire... a Viking Vampire... an irate Viking Vampire. What does she expect? Flowers? … and … kittens? ... and … and … magic pony rides? And whatever the hell it is that human girls want? Doth he protest too much? Guilt washes over him as she rubs away the marks left by his large dead hands. It is an uncomfortable feeling, this guilt, but not any longer an unfamiliar one. He does not care for it. Not at all.

"Well, hello Eric, how nice to see you again." She speaks sarcastically, caustically. She is watching him, still just waiting; she is not running, not screaming, not yet. Clearly enough time has passed. The weeks that have separated them have cooled her anger. He concentrates on their bond. He knows that he is skilled at interpreting her emotions, another of his gifts. He feels her surprise at seeing him. He feels her hurt; not for this latest physical assault, but emotional pain for his past behaviour. There is more. She is lost, unsure, uncertain, confused. Join the club, girlfriend.

"Sookie". Eric pauses. He loves to say her name, he indulges himself, saying it once more. "Sookie".

He gathers himself, sliding away from her to sit on the hood of his car, whilst he decides his next move. Stategising...again. His mask has slipped, he will no longer pretend. He wants her, he admits this to himself. He wants her to want him. She doesn't, or at any rate she didn't. This is such an unnatural state for any woman to be in that Eric cannot doubt that it will soon change. She had told him, shrieked at him, that she no longer trusts him or feels affection for him. That she no longer feels lust for him. This he cannot believe, although admittedly the torture she sustained, may have dampened it slightly.

Clearly his priorities tonight have shifted. Out goes the capture of Vampire Daniel; hell, Eric will gladly round up a whole gaggle of school girls and hand feed them to Daniel one-by-one if only his capture may be removed from tonight's schedule. No, the new plan for the evening is the 'Enlightenment of Sookie'. His strategy is a simple one and has been effective in the past; brute force.

The 'Enlightenment of Sookie' has been, it is true, previously attempted. However, her screaming refusals, her violent rescinding of his invitation, her wilful, dogged determination to believe a misrepresentation of the truth, that he had abandoned her to torture, all angered him to such an extent that he felt his only recourse was to retreat. Some may have said that this was a retreat into wounded pride, hurt feelings and blatant denial, but if this was ever mentioned to Eric the poor soul did not survive long after. If any of the anger that he felt were directed at himself, for his inability to save her sooner, this may also have been motive for his reluctance to contact her over the preceding six weeks. However, she has been waiting, for him, and it was now time.

"Sookie, you will listen to me now, you will understand, you have had long enough".

"Long enough for what Buster? To recover from torture, you asshole? I'm still riddled with holes and bite marks. I'm still torn and hurting and and frightened.... You think I should be over it by now, huh?" She is yelling, she is angry, she is unafraid of him. Classic Sookie.

He is surprised however that she has admitted to being frightened. Sookie has only rarely revealed such insecurity and vulnerability, to him at least. This is progress. He feels suddenly cheered and smiles at her. She sees him smirk and she scowls in return.

"I will talk, you will listen, let us go."

Eric thrusts himself from the hood of The Corvette enthusiastically, then changes pace, deciding to approach Sookie more slowly, unsure if she may actually run from him, or kick him, or some other such nonsense. He moves around behind her, gently hustling her forward towards the car, herding her. She looks up at him, slightly panicked.

"Eric, what in the world...? I'm at work, I'm meant to be working you big jerk, I can't just leave."

By now he has manoeuvred her to the car door, not quite pushing her, but close; he is compelling her with his body up tight behind her, jostling her. She spins around to face him and plants herself squarely into the ground.

"Stop right there Mister! God help me I'm not leaving with you now, you get that right out of your mind this minute."

He has the door open, is gently lifting her in. She starts to struggle, she is resisting his efforts. "Eric!" This time it's a shriek.

"All my stuff! My bag, my keys for goodness sake! What will Sam say? Get off me!"

He has her in the car, has fastened her seatbelt, and shuts the door on her protestations. That went well. Brute force rarely fails he has found. He is in the drivers seat in a flash, smiling to himself. She is huffing in her her seat, but is not actively trying to escape and appears resigned to her fate.

The sky has cleared; the rain which had so recently threatened to chase Eric from Louisiana has decamped for drier pastures and the stars can just be glimpsed through the cloud. What a wondrous night. As The Corvette drives, at speed, down Hummingbird Road, the Vampire glances at the girl, his girl. He feels exultant, euphoric, and a trifle bemused. He can still not quite understand the thrall she holds over him. They drive towards her home, which has been a sanctuary for them both in the past; the Vampire is laughing, the girl is sulking.

******

Authors note: If you've bothered to read this far, thank you so much, and please review to let me know what you think. Thanks again.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns the fabulous Eric and Sookie; I'm just playing with them for my amusement.

_The sky has cleared; the rain which had so recently threatened to chase Eric from Louisiana has decamped for drier pastures and the stars can just be glimpsed through the cloud. What a wondrous night. As The Corvette drives, at speed, down Hummingbird Road, the Vampire glances at the girl, his girl. He feels exultant, euphoric, and a trifle bemused. He can still not quite understand the thrall she holds over him. They drive towards her home, which has been a sanctuary for them both in the past; the Vampire is laughing, the girl is sulking._

The journey is swift. Both Eric and Sookie are silent. His laughter and her snorts of discontent have faded as they approach home. She has turned from him, and is staring out of her window vacantly, watching as the night rushes past, too fast for her to catch any detail. To a casual observer they are strangers. They are just passengers in the same compartment; seemingly akin in nothing except their destination, and in the disinterest which is written across both their faces. Yet this twinned indifference is contrived; where the other is concerned indifference is no longer accessible in their emotional repertoires.

They turn into her drive and Eric, as always, gains particular gratification from the satisfying crunch of the gravel under his wheels; the first gift she had accepted from him. He feels compelled to mention this, but wisely resists. He should not remind her of his financial assistance. She is sensitive to feeling 'bought'. He frowns as he considers that he has in fact bought her many times over; his goods, however, have shown a curious reluctance to being delivered. He has been forced to collect her himself.

This remarkable reluctance is still in evidence as Eric opens the passenger door and offers Sookie his hand. She does not choose to take it, staring straight ahead. No longer combative, she is resigned, but her face is set and closed.

"Get out, or I will get you out". Eric speaks icily. She is ignoring him. She is rejecting him.

He lifts her out and carries her to the house, setting her down gently upon the top step of her porch. She sits there placidly, where he has placed her; it would be a charming show of obedience were it not for the wall of intractability that she has erected. He can feel the force of her will-power and her insufferable stubbornness swirling through their bond. A smile is starting to edge into the corners of her mouth. The power has shifted; she is smugly aware that only she can grant him access to her home. They wait. It is aggravating, but he has played and won this game before. Finally she yields, and speaks for the first time a full ten minutes later.

"Well? What do you want me to do? Thanks to you I don't have my frikkin' key."

"You have a spare hidden." Eric speaks with all the assurance of one who is usually right. "You should not, it is not safe, but you do."

Surprise flashes across her face that he has remembered this from their time together. Silly girl, he can recall each of her heartbeats as well as all of her habits.

She moves, but just to cup her chin in her palms. "Why did you come visit Sam tonight? Is there going to be trouble … again?" She asks this quietly, pensively.

"It was not the shifter I came to see." Eric realises the truth of his words as he says them.

"Oh? Then … ? Well, you didn't even say hi to me, I thought maybe … " She trails off.

He cannot understand her. He repeats her words to himself. 'You did not even say hi to me'. He does not recall if he has ever said 'hi' to anyone; he believes not, he hopes not. Surely she felt their immediate reconnection through their bond … and did he not look at her?… acknowledge her presence? And quite intensely too! This is worth much more than such a casual, meaningless salutation as 'hi', overused by millions of humans everyday. Hi? Hi! As a greeting it would dishonour his lover!

He stares at her, no, he continues to stare at her. He has not yet once moved his eyes from her form. "You would value this? This hi?" He speaks distastefully, but he is curious too.

"Well, Lord, Eric, I don't know … it's just courtesy." She sounds exasperated, maybe she is tired of always finding him so alien, so far removed from her understanding and upbringing. He continues to stare.

Finally she stirs from her position on the damp wood, rising to her feet. He does not offer her his hand this time. She stomps to fetch the key, hidden under the eave of the overhang, and moves to unlock the door. He catches her hand, suddenly anxious. "Sookie, we do need to talk," he says this urgently. "You will need to invite me in." That slow self-satisfied smile creeps across her face again and his cool grip on her wrist tightens. Perhaps he should not allow her entry.

She looks down at his hand, clearly evaluating her options, which appear limited. "Okay, I guess we got to talk sometime. But I need to phone Sam first, and apologise. Though for the life of me I have no clue why I should be apologising for anything." She glowers at him fiercely, but he can feel that she has abandoned her anger, for the time being at least; his spirits lift again. She moves the key to the latch as his grip on her loosens. She unlocks the door and steps decisively over the threshold. She turns to look back at him over her shoulder, a smile plain on the curves of her mouth. The fear, no the anxiety, returns. "Eric, you know, I'm awful tired …"

"Sookie, no, please." The words have burst from his lips before he can catch them.

Her smile widens as she turns fully to face him, and takes a deliberate step back. Her hand twitches on the door as if she is making up her mind whether or not to just close it on him. She is teasing him, cruelly. Eric waits, standing, as it always seems, just outside the pooling light from her open doorway. The door edges almost imperceptibly towards him. Perhaps just an involuntary movement of her hand or an unconscious last-ditch bid for self-preservation. Or a conscious choice. It pierces him sharply. No matter; the movement does not continue through. The door opens wider. She steps back again, away from him, but this time the gesture is inviting.

"Okay Eric, I suppose you can come on in." She says it grudgingly, but it is enough. Eric is triumphant, and is over her threshold in a heartbeat, her heartbeat of course. She moves to the kitchen and the phone to call the shifter. Eric had forgotten him immediately upon leaving the bar, indeed he had barely registered him at all. Now he wonders why Sam did not follow after them, in some futile bid to 'rescue' Sookie. Perhaps the shifter is more sensible than he appears and had realised that he would not live through such an attempt.

Eric paces around the familiar farmhouse, listening all the while to Sookie as she apologises for his behaviour. Sam is wanting her to admit that she is scared, in need of help, in need of his help specifically. Eric smiles as she placates and reassures the shifter.

"Sam, I'm so sorry, I don't know what got in to him, but he's brought me home and as I'm here now I might as well stay and talk with him, I got to at some point I suppose."

"Sookie, you absolutely do not have to talk to him unless you want to. I can come right on over cher, you know you only have to ask. Is it safe for you there?"

"Thanks, Sam. But yes, I think it's okay, I'm pretty sure I can handle him. You just get right on back to the bar. I'm just sorry I've left you in the lurch like this, y'all going to be okay without me?"

"Course hun, you do what you need to do. Just be sure to call if you need me."

"Okay, don't you worry now."

Eric turns towards the kitchen as his hearts desire hangs up on the detestable shifter. In another moment he is standing before her, staring down at her, unsmiling. She is looking up, but her gaze is off. It has not settled upon him - as it should do - but just past his right shoulder. She has pushed her lips out in a pout of concentration, which has him battling sudden urges, and a slight frown has creased the skin of her forehead. Eric briefly considers the possibility that she is internally composing him a sonnet … of love. He has received many of these in the past, particularly in the 16th century. None of them have been welcome … so far. He admits to himself that this is doubtful, but certainly she is thinking hard, and not about tomorrows shopping list. Finally, with a sigh, she moves her eyes to his. Blue catches blue, and holds on. Again with the waiting. Both are reluctant to initiate a discussion which will cause her pain. Remind her of the horrors they would rather she forgot. He will take a circular route.

"Sookie, do you know the word kismet? Has it materialised yet on your calendar?" He glances over to where her word of the day calendar is pinned to her noticeboard.

"No, I don't think so. Kismet?" She says it musingly; pushing it over her tongue. "What is it?"

"It means destiny. It is a word I sometimes apply to us. We met, we kissed. Kismet. It was destiny. Simple."

Sookie stares up at him. Her eyes are wide; he imagines that they are filled with wonder, perhaps even awe, at his words. "Errr, except we met and we didn't kiss. Eric, we met and I distinctly _did not_ want to kiss you." She states this firmly, as if wanting there to be absolutely no room for error on this subject. Wonder and awe are sadly lacking from her tone.

He is naturally sceptical. "No, you did want to kiss me. This I know."

"Yuh, like I wanted to kiss a pit of snakes.... which I didn't … this _I know_!" She speaks in a voice which will brook no further argument. "Kismet … it is a pretty word though." She stands slowly and moves to her calendar. To his surprise she takes the pen that hangs there and writes their word in the space marked for tonight. Right underneath where she has already written '_phone Jason re gas bill._' She spells it _kissmet_.

She turns to face him, smiling. "You know I like my words."

"It is _our_ word." He says, grinning.

Light is spilling over her from the overhead bulb, catching and settling in her hair. With every sense and in every sense, he is, as always, acutely aware of her presence; he can feel her throbbing inside of him, through their bond, their pledge. It is soothing to him. But the time for procrastination is over. He steels himself and opens his mouth to speak.

"I'm so sorry Eric."

He freezes. Hmmm. "For what?"

"I guess I'm sorry for all those things I said. I know you didn't abandon me … you were there after … in the hospital. You fought for me. You didn't have to do that. You gave me blood, cared for me when I came home … well, until I asked you to leave. And, you've been there for me pretty consistently, more times than I can count. You've shown me again and again that you ... I don't know … value me, or my telepathy or something, enough to want me to be safe ... or alive at any rate ... I think, well I like to believe, that you would have come for me … with Bill and Niall … if you could have. I mean its not like you were on floor duty or something at Fangtasia and couldn't get away … is it? She sounds both uncertain and embarrassed.

"No" he says. "I was not on floor duty. I was at Fangtasia though. I felt it when they took you."

Eric moves to sit at her kitchen table and Sookie joins him, sitting opposite him. Her hands are stretched out before her on the tablecloth, nearer to Eric than they are to her. He pauses, then covers her hands with his. It reminds him of the last time she had come to him at Fangtasia, when he had recounted some of his past to her. He had enjoyed that night, that quiet time spent with her. Everything had changed so soon after that … He looked up, catching her eyes again.

"Sookie, I felt your fear, your adrenalin. Of course, _of course, _I immediately flew to you, to here." He pauses and looks around her kitchen. It holds many memories for him; mostly good. "On the journey our bond changed; it did not weaken, I could feel you as well as ever, but it stretched, twisted. I believed I knew what this meant, and when I arrived here Niall confirmed my suspicions. The fairies had taken you and were travelling through their own realm. Niall, Pam, Bill and I convened here. We sat at this table. I was armed, and eager, no desperate, for us to be leaving for the fae world. I could have tracked you best, because of our bond; I could have fought for you best, because I am a warrior ... and also, I am more motivated than the others." He pauses, watching her reaction. She has been very still, listening to him intently. At his pause she flushes and motions impatiently with her hands for him to continue. He complies.

"I do not know if you are aware of our Great War?"

"Germans? British? 1918, right? I did attend High School Eric!"

"No, Dear One, I refer to the Great War of the 1700's. It raged for 60 years. Vampire versus Fae. It was when their race were first expanding their foot hold in this world, our world. It was a conflict based primarily on territory, although certainly other matters within Vampire – Fae politics played their part.

"I, of course, led a particularly successful unit, we captured and killed many hundreds of Fairies Sookie." He feels a wave of pride wash over him as he remembers those good times. "We 'compelled' a fairy captain to lead us to a portal and remove the wards that prevented our access. Consequently we were able to enter the Fae realm; and kill many more that we found there."

"When you say many more...?"

Eric waves an airy hand, before quickly replacing it back on hers. "Thousands most probably. Niall lost many members of his bloodline during those years."

"And _my _bloodline, don't forget that."

"Ah yes, war, it is a terrible thing." Eric is unconvincing, even to himself; his hands grip hers more firmly, in case she should try to move.

"Hmmm, yes, well, you were saying?"

"We were here that night, the night you were taken. We needed to leave immediately to track you. However … Niall denied me permission to enter his realm. He condescended to allow Bill to accompany him, but flatly refused me access. On account of my past actions against his _people_." He spits this out and his face darkens. He pauses again, but this time it is not to assess her reaction but to gather himself.

That night … the rage he had felt … he was still reeling from it. It reverberates through him now, the anger and the … impotence, re-visiting upon him. It is all consuming. The shadow wells up inside him as he rises with vampire speed from his seat. He towers above Sookie, his hands clenched at his sides. It is she who is the cause of this turmoil; she who has interrupted the calm monotony of his existence; she who holds such power over him that he is no longer capable of doing his own bidding; she who haunts him and taunts him and teases him. It will not do. He can not allow this … this … pervasive _weakness _to continue.

Sookie breathes in sharply and closes her eyes.

"Eric, stop, it's too much, please calm down." Her voice is the charm that awakens him from his rage and quells his shade. She is not at fault; it is he who must bear the responsibility for all that he feels, for all his conflict. She has leant forward, hugging herself, bracing herself. Her fragile human system cannot support, let alone comprehend, the emotions that are passing through their bond. For his bonded's sake, for her health, he must restrain himself. He sits back down and slowly and deliberately reaches for her hands. He tugs them forward and enfolds them in his own. They are warm and soft, and they comfort and calm him. She is here and she is safe. He moves one small hand and holds it briefly against his cheek, before moving it to his mouth so he can kiss her palm softly. Blue catches blue again as her pupils dilate and her lips part.

"Will you forgive me?" He asks this softly, uncertainly. Is he asking her forgiveness for his inability to save her or for his recent anger? He is not sure, but either way he needs to hear the words.

"No, Eric, there is nothing to forgive."

She smiles at him, and pushes their hands towards his mouth once more.

He kisses her palm again, gladly, her warmth creeping over his lips. It tastes salty and sweet, from sweat and fae.

"I, I, tried Sookie. I … he would not let me. I would have killed him if Pam and Bill had not been here to stop me … But we were wasting time arguing, I had to let them go without me. I am sorry."

"No baby, shhhh, I'm sorry for doubting you. You did all you could. Which was a lot. You fought for me, Eric. Thank you. I wanted to say this a long time ago, but I was too proud I guess. Will you forgive me?"

In answer he kisses the inside of her wrist, slowly and reverently, his tongue lightly tracing the web of racing veins. Her skin here is gossamer thin; mere tissue paper, providing scant protection for the precious fluid beneath. He smiles as he hears her heart skip a beat. _Baby_. She called him baby. His smile widens and he suppresses a snort of laughter.

"Eric, what is going on here? How will this work?"

"How will what work, my lover?" He feels intoxicated by her scent and the feel of her skin against his lips and cheek; he can hardly think; it is taking all of his concentration to keep his fangs from descending. In the midst of his bliss Sookie pulls her hand back and rises from her chair. He is immediately bereft without her touch. He grieves for her, although she is standing but three foot away.

"Us, Eric, this." She indicates them both with her hands. "Is there an us?"

"Of course Sookie! You are mine, and I will want you for always."

"Always … that's too big a word for you Eric, we can't talk in those terms. You're a vampire who'll live for god only knows how long, and I'm just a tiny bump on your road."

"No!" He is fierce. She is wrong.

She smiles at him, and it's a sad smile, an old smile, as if it's he who is wrong and she knows it well. "Eric, you're … you're just spinning in infinity, and I'm just a human who is fading and sliding from you with every passing second. I didn't think about that much when I was with Bill, but I think it might weigh on me more now, if I was with you."

"Spinning in infinity?" he raises a sardonic eyebrow at the poetry of her words.

"Amen and Hallelujah" she adds inconsequentially, as an afterthought. Confusion reigns. "It's from a Paul Simon song, my mama's favourite … it's about a bodyguard and this guy called Al … Nevermind." Eric recognises the reference; it was played incessantly during his time at community college (_shudder_), but he remains quiet. Instinctively he realises that acknowledging this would be a sign of weakness; much in the same way that he wouldn't admit to watching Glee … Buffy's acceptable, that's ironic, and anyway, she already knows that he likes that.

Hmmm. Spinning? He considers her words. "Maybe I do not want to 'spin' as you say," then more definitely, "I am not spinning." He is affronted, indignant, that such a flighty, fae adjective could ever be applied to himself. "I am anchored! I feel anchored!" he says this with fierce conviction, staring at her intently. It is the truth, but only a recent one. "And you may be human Sookie, but you will never fade." He rises from his chair and moves to where she is leaning against the kitchen counter. He reaches out to touch her hair and his fangs run down. Her breathe catches and her heart skips as he bends slowly to kiss along her jaw, his hands running down to her waist to pull her nearer. They both shiver at the contact. His lips move to her ear and he softly whispers "I see Angels in your Architecture … "

She giggles against his neck, pulling back to look at him."Paul Simon?"

"Amen and hallelujah" he replies as he leans in for a kiss.

Her lips part as they meet his. "Hi Sookie" he whispers into her mouth. "Hi Eric" she replies.

******

Authors note: If you've bothered to read this far, thank you so much, and please review to let me know what you think. Thanks again.


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